


Still Ill

by quietwandering



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: Spike and Angel fuck like mad to maybe not save the world, but at the very least to try and solve some of their problems.
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS), Spike/Angel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Still Ill

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm only 17 years late to the party! Spangel is still relevant right? No? Oh.
> 
> Well, I'm rewatching all of Angel and Buffy with my wife and have been thriving on all the old Spangel fics. There were so many incredible writers (*´・ｖ・) 
> 
> One in particular I love is girlpire. While many of her works are now gone (or flocked, though I've now read Friday and oh my gosh, so good!), Touch was one that had been left unfinished in 3 incredible parts, so I wanted to write an honorary part 4 for them - though it's now been updated officially as of January, 2021! 
> 
> Read the original here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160178/chapters/70198956
> 
> [My own title, Still Ill, comes from The Smiths song of the same name.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_3oFRcTNHo)
> 
> Enjoy <3

The room emptied out as an awkward procession of stilted laughs and slight waves, Lorne seemingly the least affected. Angel was never able to tell if the demon was as collected as he led others to believe, or if there was something more to all the knowing smiles and wild gestures...Fuck, Angel had to break that train of thought before the arousal got completely out of hand. 

Spike was still sat comfortably with his box of dumplings, but Angel could tell only one or two had been eaten. The key had vanished out the vampire’s hand, most likely into his duster, and Angel settled into the realization that him and this desk would likely have a long few hours to be acquainted. “Can you tone down the brood a little, mate? I’m trying to eat here.”

“Yours, huh?” Angel asked, dismissive of the insult.

“Everyone in this office deaf now? What else was I meant to do? Let you shag the boy?”

Angel shrugged and let himself be distracted with the manacle’s chain. The material really was remarkable. Light as plastic but even with the hardest tug the links didn’t so much as bend. Fred...Angel hoped that everything was alright with her. Maybe whenever Wesley would let him know what'd happened these past few weeks. “No way it’s just hormones,” Angel mused after a few more minutes of silence. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Spike said as he pushed back from the desk. “Right, well. I’m off. A few things to take care of. You just sit tight.”

“Very funny,” Angel said as he watched Spike’s retreating form wave back to him in a cavalier manner. The door shut and left Angel stranded in a heady mix of smells -- Spike’s arousal, Mitch’s, too, and the rich tang of spilled blood and cleaner. Chinese containers that were left abandoned for the janitors. The now familiar restlessness had him instinctively reaching for his crotch, but Angel slammed his hand down on his thigh instead, digging his nails in. Security tapes of the CEO jerking off wasn’t something Angel wanted to handle anytime soon, or ever...though. There was certainly an appeal to that. To the idea of that many eyes all focused on him, unable to look away. Just like at the club... “ _No_!” 

*

Hours passed in silence. Thankfully Angel managed to settle into some form of meditation to keep his thoughts from racing. There might have also been some light sleeping seeing as last night was spent not panicking nearly enough about what happened between him and Spike. The door banging open jarred Angel awake sometime late in the afternoon, and he guiltily snatched his hand from his lap as a squat, moldy orange demon came in. “Ah, sir. Excuse me, I was sent to unchain you.”

Great. “Uh...sure?” Angel stammered as the demon came over with the key, and he tried to focus on anything but the strangely attractive folds that went down the back of the creature’s neck. They glistened with some kind of glossy, sour smelling secretion that Angel desperately wanted to taste. “T-thank you. I’ll be...elsewhere, if anyone needs me. My suite.” 

“Absolutely, sir. I’ll be sure to let Spike -- that is, _Mr_. Spike know. Of course.” 

Angel pushed past and sprinted towards his office, skimming to a halt by the elevator to his penthouse. A part of him almost didn’t want to go up there, didn’t want to have to be in a bed that smelled of Spike and come and blood. _Blood_. Warm blood sounded immensely nice right about then.

Angel walked in as the elevator doors opened and let himself sink tiredly against the back wall. His left wrist ached still. Every thought was a blurred image of willing flesh and smells of arousal. “ _Hormones_?” This was the First Evil back with a vengeance. Just instead of Jenny Calendar there was only Spike and a barrage of uncontrollable lust.

The penthouse was blessedly quiet when Angel came in, somewhat worried Spike would be sprawled naked in the bed already, and he went to heat a few mugs of blood in the microwave. As Angel sunk onto the couch with a third pint, he decided to call the cleaning services. That would at least let him spend some time researching later on, when his senses weren’t being assaulted with the smell of Spike in every room.

Where _was_ Spike anyways? Wasn’t Angel supposed to be in his custody? Whatever that meant. Perhaps the distance was part of Spike’s plan though...okay. Well, Spike, plans. Maybe not. Still, if there wasn’t supposed to be anymore…’ _enticing’_ between the two of them then surely this separation was for the best. Angel really hadn’t been worried about the whole passing out thing or the exploding bit, but...patrolling for a few hours sounded undeniably appealing.

No. There was no way Angel could risk that. Not after Lana. Not after Angel couldn’t stop himself from rutting against Spike in a wet alleyway. That had to be off the table till this whole debacle had passed. Still...maybe the gym might be the next best thing. It’d be a way to stop the blood pooling into Angel’s groin for a brief moment. An escape for the all consuming heat burning through his extremities.

Off to the training rooms then.

*

The rhythmic punch of the bag was incredibly satisfying. More than Angel had expected. The cardio had left his mind able to wander, but the calisthenics had him focused on something other than the scents of each employee that happened to walk by outside. None of whom had ventured in, fortunately. Angel wasn’t sure he’d have been able to help himself with how long it’d been since he’d last had any release, and that only having just been this morning in the shower, well...that was more than worrying to say the least.

After an hour or so, Angel picked up on Spike somewhere in the near vicinity, nostrils flaring at the scent of leather, smoke, and seemingly recent orgasms. Without much thought, Angel began to swing harder at the bag, chain creaking from the blows. When the door to the training room swung open, Angel was surprised the bag didn’t just snap right off from the force of his last swing. “There you are, peaches. Thought you’d be hiding up in your bunker all day.”

“I wasn’t exactly hiding, Spike, and you were supposed to be keeping track of me anyways. Where have you even been all day?” Angel griped, pulling the wraps off his hands. Spike seemed unaffected by the outburst and leaned against the door, tapping a cigarette out of the packet. “You can’t --” 

“Funny that. Someone disabled the smoke alarms.”

“ _Spike_ \--”

“Oh, I’m sure someone’ll notice soon enough.” Spike took a few drags and started to head into the gym, sauntering towards Angel with an expression that could only mean terrible things. Angel spun on his heel and went for a towel to wipe himself down, gulping down half a thermos of blood he’d brought with him. It did nothing to satiate him. “Plus, who says I haven’t been watching you?”

Angel turned to see Spike gesturing at one of the cameras pointed towards them. “Great. Well, I’ve not bit anyone else so you can just go now.”

“And I s’pose it’s time to get you back upstairs. That whole reeking business of yours hasn’t improved much.” Angel didn’t comment on the fact Spike still hadn’t showered, didn't bring up that there was nothing else he could think of other than the intoxicating smells of his childe. He wanted to be marked again by those heady scents so badly. “C’mon, pet. Let’s go.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Angel growled out, twisting the thermos closed. “Just...go back to pissing someone else off already.”

With a hard shove, Angel made to move past Spike but his arm was around Angel in an instant, crushing his ribs. Angel instinctively moved to pull Spike off, only slightly akimbo, but some manner of cloth was being pushed hard against his face. Fucking -- was Spike trying to _chloroform_ him? Like Angel even needed to breathe, but there was no sickly sweet scent coming from the material. Just...just come. Spike’s come. Lots of it. The soft material was soaked in it. “Made a nice little prezzie for you today. Thought you might like it.” 

Angel grabbed at Spike’s wrist, intent to do... _something_ , but his legs had seemed to lose the strength to hold him upright. He slumped back against Spike’s chest with a loud moan, huffing in the scent hungrily. “Spike. _Spike_.” 

“That’s a good sire. Let’s get you upstairs now.” 

Blindly, Angel let Spike lead him out of the training room by the hand, material now dangling temptingly from between their linked fingers. They were a pair of Angel’s favorite underwear by the looks of it. Gray, boxer briefs. Now they were stained in telling dark splotches and would likely need to be thrown out. Even with the sensory overload, and the burn of arousal making every inch of him twitch, Angel still felt a deep seated need to bitch about Spike ruining them.

*

Spike sat Angel on the couch while he went off into the kitchen, the underwear now tucked safely away into his duster. “Percy thinks he has an idea of what might be happening. The Claiming, he said.” 

“What?” Angel asked dazedly, pulling at his crotch. His cock was still pressing painfully against the zipper. The room now smelled too sterile. Everything was scrubbed down and foreign to his senses. Spike’s scent wafted from the kitchen and Angel wanted to somehow soak it into every surface. “...Claiming?”

“Sounded a bit more posh in pikey talk, but yeah -- something to do with your hormones flaring up after being backed up for too long. Guess Aurelian vamps aren’t meant to be taking up the cloth like you.” Spike came back in with a mug of blood and sat down too close, smirk ever present. “Always bloody told you to stop being such a tight arse.” 

“I don’t…” Angel wished Spike was further away. Angel also wanted Spike a great deal closer. Everything was so hard -- his dick, _Spike’s_ dick, his ability to understand any of what Spike was going on about. “What?” 

“The pipes are backed up,” Spike said, slowly. As if the words were meant to make sense. “You’re stinking up the place cause you need to get your dick wet. Body’s screaming for some release.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Angel said flatly. “The Master never --”

“The Master fucked Darla till the old bitch wobbled for an entire week. You, on the other hand, fucked the Slayer and seemingly decided you weren’t going to come for another bloody century.” 

Angel rubbed at his face and took Spike’s mug of blood, downing the rest. Spike looked briefly affronted but went to heat more after getting the cup back. “First of all, that’s not true...It’s _not_ ,” Angel snapped at the sheer thought of Spike’s peaked eyebrow in the other room. “Secondly, there’s no...spell? I just bit Lana because…And we...Last night, I mean...”

“You needed it. The release. We Aurelians can’t not let loose once in a while, yeah? Got to be too much,” Spike replied from the kitchen. Angel sank deeper into the couch, ashamed. The control he’d spent so long to perfect was now just...gone? “Watcher said I might be a little touchy about the whole thing cause I’m so closely related. Unfortunately.” 

The penthouse was silent for a long while aside from the sound of the microwave before Spike came back in and now sat on the couch arm, arousal prominently evident even in the dimmed light. Not that Angel couldn’t smell it. “Then there’s got to be a way to make it stop. Some sort of ritual we can do?” 

Spike didn’t say anything as he reached to pull the underwear back out, flinging them into Angel’s lap. Every part of Angel wanted to rub the material against himself again, to drag his tongue along every stain and suck out the taste of his childe. “Don’t think so, ponce. You just gotta fuck it all out of your system.” 

“I’m sure Wesley --” 

“Percy isn’t going to bloody well mojo up a fix for this. Stop being such a nancy. Just find someone and get to work on them. Not a bleedin’ death sentence, you nonce,” Spike grumbled, loudly drinking the blood. “Christ, you think you’d be a little more excited.” 

“I _bit_ someone, Spike. I nearly _killed_ Lana. Had you not…” Angel made a strained noise. The smell of Spike’s come was overshadowing the guilt. His fingers twitched towards his lap before he balled them up again, muscles aching from the earlier exertion. “What? I’m just going to have to risk actually losing my soul again? That’s insane.”

“Guess you better start thinking about who might make an eligible candidate,” Spike said with a conspicuous drawl, still not looking over at Angel, eyes fixed out the window at some unknown point. “Someone who might be able to handle keeping you from getting a little too worked up.” 

Angel pinched at the bridge of his nose. His skin was buzzing again. The loose gym sweats and tank he was wearing suddenly felt far too tight. “So that whole _resisting_ bit today in the meeting?”

Spike’s low laugh made Angel’s stomach clench. “Well. Guess I’ll just see myself out then, yeah? I’m sure Harmony might be up for a nice, long fuck. We used to go for hours.” Unsurprisingly, Spike didn’t make any attempt to actually move. Just sat with his legs spread enough that Angel could kneel right down between them, maybe suck at the black denim struggling to restrain Spike’s dick. “Oh, I could maybe call up Mitch again? You seemed awfully interested in him earlier.” 

Angel ripped the tank off with one hand, grabbing the underwear up with the other. Spike eyes finally shifted over, pupils blown wide with arousal, flecks of gold swimming in cerulean blue. Greedily, Angel pulled the boxer briefs along his jawline, up to his nose. The scent of Spike’s come, so close now, made his fangs drop and he shoved hard at his sweats. His cock sprung out against his belly, smearing it with clear drops of fluid. 

“Yeah?” Spike asked, a low growl rumbling through the word. A promise. Angel’s eyes squeezed shut at the vibration that sent through him. “Thought you might need some more time to wallow, soak up a bit more shame.” 

Moaning quietly, Angel pushed the underwear slowly down his chest and around his cock, fisting himself roughly with the thin material. If they weren’t ruined before they were definitely done for now. Angel’s precome soaked them as he rubbed at the sensitive tip of his cock, pressing them down into the slit. “ _Fuck_ \-- Spike. Will,” Angel gasped. “ _Will_.”

“Don’t fuckin’ stop,” Spike murmured, setting the mug down on the ground. “Like that? Like marking yourself up with my scent? Get that innocent smell of yours all covered in it.” Spike’s knees were sinking down around Angel’s thighs, hands propped on the couch. “Want you smellin’ like sin itself.” 

Spike’s tongue was pressed right along Angel’s pulse point, that same sensitive point from last night, and Angel didn’t need any more motivation. Every word, every movement, made Angel feel like he was ripping apart from the sheer force of his arousal. There was nothing left _but_ to come. An animalistic noise rumbled from his throat as his free arm came up to pull helplessly at Spike’s shoulder, eyes rolling back as he felt Spike’s fangs scrape along his carotid. 

*

The room was swimming when Angel managed to pull himself together again. That usual sense of calm was absent despite the orgasm. There was no slow pull back of the fogginess that cluttered his thoughts with wickedness -- thoughts of skin and low noises and bruises and other such degeneracy. There was just a singular need, poignant desire, absolute urgency. 

Spike was still sprawled in his lap, hips moving in slow motions against his stomach, wetly sucking along his shoulder. “Hey there, peaches. You back with the unliving again?” 

“Mm.” Angel rubbed at Spike’s chest for a minute. Cognitive thought seemed entirely lost. “This is...a really terrible idea. What we’re doing.”

“Most of your ideas _are_ rubbish, yeah,” Spike said agreeably, now focusing on Angel’s right pectoral. “Still, more points for me having to save your ungrateful self from your own demise. I’m sure you’ll find ways to thank me.” 

“Bed. I think...I think bed,” Angel said after a moment of shifting restlessly against Spike’s tongue. “That seems better. I think.”

*

The sheets were ripped down before Angel was unceremoniously shoved back against the mattress, springs creaking from the force. There were plenty of complaints Angel would have made had Spike not decided to make use of the underwear as a makeshift gag, tongue now soaked in a tantalizing mix of both their spend. 

Clothes were mostly stripped off along the way aside from the duster, which was carefully laid over a chair. Spike stood, head cocked, with an inscrutable expression. He had one knee on the bed, eyeing Angel unabashedly. “Thought this be a good look for you, sire. ‘Gelus was always too full of himself to know how good he could it get from me.” 

Tensing, Angel pushed himself up the bed as Spike began to crawl closer, cock bobbing enticingly between his thighs. With little prompt, Spike pushed Angel’s legs up and back as he leaned in to drag a tongue along Angel’s inner thigh, biting hard enough with his blunt teeth to mark the skin. 

“You smell...so fucking _good_ ,” Spike breathed, pressing his face deep into Angel’s groin. “I can’t fuckin’ think, can’t fuckin’ get away from it. I just want to tear you open and drink you down. All of you.” 

Angel grabbed at the headboard as Spike’s tongue laved across his balls, sucking at them. One, then the other, and back again. Everything was too much, not enough, and Angel wasn’t sure a hundred years in hell had been as bad as this. The arousal was a palpable weight expanding inside his sternum, engulfing him. 

There were a few teasing licks across Angel’s slit and down along the vein beneath as Spike sunk his tongue lower, hands pressing Angel’s legs hard enough to lift his hips off the bed. Finally, _finally_ , Spike’s tongue was on his perineum, rolling the muscle hard against the small swell just beneath the skin. Angel’s fangs dropped and tore straight through the gag, and he was finally able to let out the noises that had built up in his throat, screams of something near pleasure but tinged with agony. 

Long, slow licks across Angel’s entrance had his cock forcefully shooting precome across his stomach. “Please, _please_. Just --” Angel didn’t know what he wanted. Everything maybe. Mostly for Spike to just fuck him. No matter how tight his balls drew up with just a push of Spike’s tongue. 

“Hold your legs up,” Spike said, barely waiting for Angel to comply before he was sucking two fingers into his mouth. “Keep them up.”

“Yes,” Angel said dazedly. “Anything, _please_.”

“I got you, pet. Just relax for me.” Spike’s fingers were pressing in, together, and Angel wasn’t sure there was a shred of sanity left in him. There was nothing but the push and pull of Spike’s hand, the whole universe narrowed down to the relentless motion of those two digits. “See? Gotta get you ready for me, yeah?” 

The feel of Spike’s fingers crooking against that sweet spot inside of Angel was too much. A thunderclap of orgasmic bliss shook out from his gut, down into his curled toes and out through his fingertips. A sob shuddered out, and Angel’s back bowed up, come splattering his stomach. There was still no relief. There still was just ache and need rampaging inside him, cock still straining along his abdomen. 

“Jesus. Okay. ...Okay.” Spike seemed to be mostly speaking to himself. Which was good as Angel wasn’t sure anything he had to say would be of use. There was movement, the bed dipped, and Spike was there, pressing their mouths together as if that wasn’t the strangest thing for them to be doing this century. Their tongues met, and Spike was rubbing Angel’s come into his skin, before pushing inside of him with rampant force. 

Angel couldn’t hold on any longer and let his legs sink around Spike’s hips, grasping at the sheets as they fucked. The scents. Spike’s scent. Their scents together. The smell of them. It was wanton and raw, and Angel wanted to drown in it. Spike’s fingers were pulling the strips of the underwear off his jaw and carding through his hair, almost gently -- but Spike would never admit to that. Not after centuries of neglect and endless fuckups. 

But right now, all that really mattered was that Angel could feel Spike inside him, almost painfully so, and that there might be bruises from the way their hips were slamming together with too much force, Spike’s sharper, leaner figure grinding in hard circular motions before another round of back and forth. Their tongues mimicked the motions when they bothered to meet, but they were otherwise occupied with marking what skin could be reached. “‘S’that it, sire? This what you need? To be fucked? You like me making you come?” 

Angel let out a low noise, unable to coherently talk anymore, and gasped as Spike’s hand trailed down to grab at his cock, squeezing tight at the shaft before running his palm along the head. Just the motion of their fucking was enough to move Angel’s cock through Spike’s fist, but there was a particular rhythm Spike seemed to want to set in counter to that, twisting and pulling in a way that made hot white flashes spark across the back of Angel’s eyelids. Angel kicked hard at the side of Spike’s thigh as he came, scratching deep red lines into his shoulder. Still not enough. Still so fucking _hard_. 

Head flung back, Spike shoved their hips hard together one last time before he came, Angel now soaked in a new coat of Spike’s release. Angel wanted to taste it, wanted to push Spike out and reach in to coat his tongue in the fluids. “Bloody hell, you’re needing it real bad aren’t you, peaches?” Spike breathed out, face buried in Angel’s neck. Angel wasn’t sure he’d only thought that last bit. “Think this might help you cool off.”

With that, Angel got no other warning as Spike’s fangs sunk into his shoulder. A ragged moan choked out as Spike began to drink in slow, hypnotizing pulls, ridges shoved against Angel’s oversensitive neck. Angel’s back bent up again in submission, head dropped to the side. Spike’s hand hadn’t left his dick, thumbnail toying with his slit -- teetering right on painful -- before rubbing at the throbbing vein beneath. A low sob stuttered out as Angel’s balls tightened, aching, and felt himself spill, lightheaded and a touch dizzy. 

With careful motions, Spike’s fangs pulled back as well as his hips, sinking somewhat down onto the bed but mostly onto Angel’s side. “There we go, better now?” Spike asked in a low tone, a warming purr in his throat. His messy fingers dragged up Angel’s chest before he pushed them into Angel’s partly open lips. Angel didn’t hesitate to suck them clean, grasping weakly at Spike’s wrist. 

For the moment, Angel had finally softened. Exhaustion, maybe, or perhaps only a brief respite. There was no way to really tell if things would go back to normal from here. Not that Angel really wanted to think about what normal meant after Spike spent the good part of the night making him come. Not that Angel wanted to really think about anything, period 

“Count on you to be brooding right after I shagged your sodding brains out,” Spike griped, fingers now stroking down Angel’s chest. “Give it a rest already.”

“‘M not brooding,” Angel mumbled, twisting slightly at the feel of Spike’s come slipping down his thighs. “Just...How do we know if it’s done?” 

“Guess we’ll just have to find out in the morning, huh?” Spike said with an eyebrow wiggle that could only mean bad things. “Have a bit of a rest now, you ponce. We’ll figure it out soon enough.”


End file.
